Crime Scenes are Battle Fields
by DarkForbidden-Love
Summary: Who are John and Sherlock and why will they always find each other? Warning: All chapters are unconnected unless otherwise stated. Chapter 6: Two against sides of the same coin.  Only chapter to have neither John or Sherlock.  Moriarty/Moran
1. Lucky Guns

Don't own Sherlock. And the man with the gun is John Watson. ;)

* * *

><p>"You're life is mine," Sherlock growled as his hand curled possessively in the hit man's hair. "I control whether you live or die, so tell me what I want to know," Sherlock was snarling and pulling the man's hard enough for blood to start flowing.<p>

The hit man whimpered but still managed to gasp out, "I am a human, and you cannot control my life."

Sherlock's hand tightened reflexively and the hit man cried out. "Says you."

"Ah, of course," the hit man gasped, "you don't care about normal human things or their feelings."

"That'd be right~," Sherlock laughed and the hit man flinched. Sherlock then turned dramatically leaving the hit man's body with a hole where its heart should be. Sherlock then turned his eyes to the sky, "Looks like it shall rain and I'll lose the trail. Lady Luck must favor you, sweetie."

A chuckle reverberated through the shadows, "I've been told I'm her favorite man." Sherlock did not turn around to face the man knowing he would only catch a glimpse of the fair haired man before he would disappear into the shadows. His mind reminded him that if he only caught a glimpse the want to catch the man would only grow. Sherlock was already past the point of obsession with the man anymore and he would be unable to turn him in when he finally caught him.

Sherlock nonchalantly hummed as though behind him was not a man he had been hunting for a month and wanted to control complete. "You may be her favorite man but put yourself on the line too much and she'll let you go." The man laughed and Sherlock shivered though not from cold or fear. A warm breath ghosted over his ear and a cold muzzle of a gun was placed against the base of his skull. Sherlock felt his adrenaline spike, never had this man gotten so close before.

"I could kill you right now and I'd have no threats to my business." The man whispered promisingly right into Sherlock's ear.

"Ah, but you'd hate that." Sherlock replied not mindful of the loading gun poised to kill him. "You love that I challenge you and make you think on your feet. You don't want the easy life, you want a puzzle something to work at. An easy life is too boring to you; which are also why've you have set up rules or morals to play by."

"What makes you think you know me, detective?" The man asked as he undid the safety on the gun.

Sherlock smiled, "The fact that only now have you removed the safety on the gun and that today is the first day we've official met. You've teased me before and taunted the police; you get off on being chased. You don't really have a reason to live besides you drunkard of a sister who isn't the most supportive, you don't need the money or street reputation but still you do it."

The man chuckled and disappeared, the cold pressure of the gun with him. Sherlock allowed himself a little grin of victory. Tonight had been most informative as he now knew the man was military, whether Afghanistan or Iraq was yet to be seen, left hand dominate*, and a doctor. "I hope we meet again, sweetie." Sherlock murmered into the wind.

* * *

><p>*Go watch the unaired pilot if you don't believe me, John Watson writes with his left hand in that episode.<p> 


	2. Painting Sherlock

Strangely, I don't own Sherlock. Painter AU. Sherlock isn't in this one but if a second chapter is made it be all about him.

* * *

><p>"Watson!" Sarah shouted for the door way of the flat.<p>

John, deep within the building looked up from his painting at her voice. "What is it, Sarah?" He called back.

"I'm here to talk to you about your next art gallery." She responded leaning against the door frame outside the building.

"Come in then and I'll get you a cuppa!" John shouted and laid his paints down. He heard the front door open and close as he headed towards the kitchen. Five minutes later the water was done and poured into two plain mugs. John handed the one with 3 sugars and a dollop of milk to Sarah who had made herself comfortable on one of the plush chairs. "Which specifics are you here for now?" He questioned as he sat down.

"The art gallery set up in general." Sarah replied staring moodily into her tea.

John grinned, "What about it?"

Sarah sighed and played with her tea mug, "It needs a new featured piece.

"What's wrong with the current one?" John asked quirking his eyebrow.

"Doesn't fit the theme according to the contractor." Sarah said viciously and John knew the anger was not directed at him.

"But isn't Lestrade in charge of this gallery?" John questioned.

Sarah nodded, "But he is currently ill and in the hospital." John looked surprised and made a mental note to visit him later. "Some high rollers are now in charge." Sarah spat the last line out and John wondered what they had done to make Sarah hate them so much.

"What theme did they pick then?" John asked.

Sarah took a sip of her tea and John wondered what would make Sarah so uncomfortable. Finally her silence broke and she answered, "Emotional human portrayal. Only your featured art must fit the category because otherwise no artist would be able to display their art."

John stared at Sarah and she hung her head, "Emotional human portrayal? I don't even do human!"

Sarah frowned and spared a look around John's flat. "I know." She responded barely above a whisper. It was obvious from the pictures that John had finished and where lying around, that anything that moved was not his area. All his pictured were still objects from flowers to tea cups. The most active painting was one of a waterfall and trees.

"Can I still show art if I don't have a featured piece?" John queried wearily.

Sarah's knuckles whitened as she gripped her mug hard, "Only if you can spare 1,000,000 pounds," She spat venomously.

John exhaled and slumped further into his chair, "Damn. I barely get by as it is; I can't bribe a company that much."

"Even if all your pictures sell?" Sarah asked. She only had an approximate value of John's paintings as she was not an appraiser just an organizer. She did know that John rarely if ever came home with any paintings unsold though.

"Possibly," John answered, "but unlikely. I also need to pay rent which will lake a large part out of my profits."

Sarah placed her mug on the coffee table, "You could move to a place with better rent or get a flat share. I see if I can weasel you out of this without paying, in the mean time you may want to take up people watching."

"Don't bother, Sarah" John said, "How hard could it be to paint a single person?" Sarah just shook her head, stood up, and left the flat with John staring after her.


	3. Get Into The Car

"Get into the car." The voice in the phone demanded as a non-descript black car pulled up outside the telephone box. John placed the phone back on its holder and stepped out into the rain. A posh dressed man opened the door and John slipped in. He was very surprised to see who he was sitting next to.

"Harry?" He whispered. Harry looked up and their eyes locked. The corner of Harry's mouth twitched up and John also fought down a smile.

"It's Athena actually." She responded before returning to texting.

John hummed, "So, Athena," He tried out the new name, "have much free time?"

"Lots." She responded shortly knowing exactly what this sounded like to the driver.

"How does dinner or maybe lunch sound sometime?" John asked. He did not get his answer though as the car pulled into a dimly lit warehouse. John rolled his eyes, how cliché could people get? He opened the door and stepped out noting all he could about the man and the warehouse. If need be he could now report said man to the police.

"Are you still looking for a job, Dr. Watson?" The man in the suit asked. John did not answer but wondered how the man knew his man and that he had been looking for a job.

"No," he replied shortly. The man in the suit laughed.

"The name's Holmes, Mycroft Holmes. I need you to spy on someone for me, think you can do that Dr. Watson?"

John frowned, "I told you I'm not looking for a job."

Mycroft just raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Judging by the general state of your clothes you are lying. A bit hard to afford London on an Army pension isn't it?"

"Why should I accept an offer from a man who kidnaps me and thinks he knows all about me?" John demanded.

Mycroft chuckled, "Because I know you cannot leave London, you need a flat with a prime location, and a job. I can give you all that plus a rather large paycheck for just a little information, nothing you'd be uncomfortable with."

John looked Mycroft in the eye, "I refuse."

"I haven't even named a figure." Mycroft said calmly, he already knew the good doctor would lose this argument. He would be the perfect keeper for Sherlock.

"It doesn't matter. I doubt whoever this man is that you could not get another person to spy on him, and if your paycheck is good enough you might even be able to pay one of his closest confidents to give you the information." John said before turning his back to Mycroft, a subtle insult.

"Pity," Mycroft said, "I was hoping you'd be able to take a slice of war. Seems you psychiatrist was right, you were afraid of the war and got hurt on purpose."

John whirled around, his eyes blazing, "Why don't you repeat that?" He demanded gun drawn. Mycroft just chuckled.

"You can gas him now." Mycroft commanded and John only had a second to wonder what that meant be for he passed into oblivion.

John woke up some time later back at the military housing. He instantly knew it was not a dream as pinned to his pillow was the note, "Find Mike Stamford and ask him about Sherlock Holmes. The price is 100,000 pounds a year and your salary is negotiable. –MH" John groaned and fell back to his bed with a smile on his face. He felt the excitement race though his veins and could not help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. For the first time in a long while he was not bored.


	4. 8 Times We Met

Still do not have possession of Sherlock. Surprised?

Warning: Really cracky and romancy compared to my normal writing (I think)

* * *

><p>The first time Sherlock saw John Watson, he thought nothing of him. He did not bother to notice or deduce who he was looking at.<p>

The second time Sherlock saw John both were drunk enough not to care. Sherlock would only be able to remember that a drunken army doctor saved him from a certain death…while drunk.

The third time Sherlock met John he was yelling at the police for being idiots. At first Sherlock was offended, only he got to call the police idiots. Then he listened, John was bringing up several key points in the triple homicide he had just witnessed, Sherlock had to hand it to him John knew his dead bodies really well.

The fourth time Sherlock ran into John while being chased by a criminal. Sherlock had not seen John and ran into him ending up on the pavement, John on top of him. The good news? The criminal ran right by them. The bad news? Sherlock still did not know his savior's name…or phone number.

The fifth time Sherlock danced with John at a masquerade ball that Mycroft had forced him to attend. He was quite confused as to why the voice of his dance partner was familiar and what he had meant by, "We really ought to stop meeting like this."

The sixth time Sherlock was surprised to see John working with the police. Lestrade simply shrugged it off and said he was good at what he did and besides he knew that Sherlock would not work for Anderson.

The seventh time was when Moriarty kidnapped John. There was not on purpose, but by accident that of all the people in London Moriarty strapped the bomb to Sherlock's Heart. He had not even realized until that moment of seeing the familiar blond wrapped snuggly in the bomb that he even had a heart and knew without a doubt that he needed to know this man. Unfortunately while Sherlock managed to rescue him the bomb went off, buried the man, and now Sherlock was not allowed into his hospital room.

The eighth time they met Sherlock wasted no time. It might have been a crime scene but Sherlock did not care. He grabbed the man's arm, dragged him to the hallway, and kissed him soundly. After words he demanded to know his name.

John laughed, not at all disturbed by the fact he had been kissed by a man he barely knew, "The name's John Watson." He offered his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes." He returned before shaking John's hand and resuming the kiss.


	5. Saving John Watson

Still don't own Sherlock. Cross-posted on tumblr. Enjoy~

* * *

><p>John was bored. The kidnapping had been interesting at first but after the first minute or two of listening to an insane man ramble in went downhill. Honest would it hurt for the guy to shut up? Whoever this Cherlo was they obviously were not interested and John doubted that kidnapping him and sticking a bomb would increase the tension between the captor and his possible rescuer. John was then shoved into a shower stall at an indoor swimming pool, given an ear piece, and told to wait for further instructions. It gave him plenty of time to think but the only thing he could come up with was that for a criminal that hated the cliché and ordinary the one who had kidnapped him was certainly trying to hit them all. Because generic criminal #1 has generic henchmen #1 who kidnapped generic innocent bystanders (John personally was #5) that a generic good guy was supposed to rescue. John was not sure if he could count himself as generic or if screaming and flailing would make it more authentic.<p>

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by generic criminal whispering in his ear though the ear piece, "Sherlock is outside, I want you to step out of the shower and say, 'Hello, Sherlock.'" _Sherlock, not Cherlo_, John thought with an invisible self-depreciating grin, _of course._

John did exactly as he was told, slipping out of the shower stall and saying, "Hello, Sherlock." To the man he assumed to be Sherlock. Judging by the look on the man's face John was correct in his assessment.

"You aren't Moriarty." Sherlock said bluntly. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tell him what a stunning observation that truly was.

Instead he said, "What makes you so sure of that? I could be anything I want to be, including this pathetic plebian." Sherlock, meanwhile, was going on a bit of an overdrive. There was something wrong with the man in the vest. He had known the man's name but couldn't dredge up his name at this time. First off was the fact the man had been kidnapped right out of his normal life and did not seem effected by that at all. Second was that the man was not paying attention to what was going on around him and Sherlock knew if something happened the man would not react to it unless told to by Moriarty and that was not because he had been trained to do that. The man with the bomb on his was much more intriguing then Moriarty.

"You wouldn't call yourself a pathetic plebian." Sherlock pointed out. "You are much more arrogant then that. Care to tell me who your captive is?"

"I think you already know him, Sherlock." John replied in a dull monotone and Sherlock thought it sounded like there should have been much more emotion mixed in with the words. "Since you won't let me have my fun, anything you want me to make him tell you, darling?" Once again the words where delivered without any tone inflection.

Sherlock frowned acting like a petulant child, "I want his name! I'm quite aware of what he does."

"And I don't feel like telling you, maybe I should kill him so you'll never know." Sherlock felt like this should have been delivered with either the anger of Moriarty or the fear of a captive not the disinterest of the man before him.

But even as Sherlock opened his mouth to respond the man attached to the bomb grinned, "You realize your sniper doesn't want to shoot me? He figured out how large the blast radius of my vest would be and that it would be more than enough to take out his spot effectively killing him. He isn't interested in dying for you."

Sherlock stared, unabashed at the man who defied Moriarty like it was normal to do. He filed 'bravery' in a file specifically for "Moriarty's 5th Bystander" as he still could not remember his name despite having been told it by Lestrade. The man was not talking anymore so Sherlock assumed Moriarty was talking. This theory was quickly cemented when the man spoke again.

"I have a little riddle for you, Sherlock, 'Who is the organizer of half that is evil and nearly all that is undetected in this great city. Who is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker? Who has a brain of the first order? Who sits motionless, like the spider in the centre of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and who knows well every quiver of them?'" John said monotone but after he delivered his message he rolled his eyes. Sherlock knew that was the man's own action not something Moriarty had told him to do.

"Stop being so full of yourself," Sherlock snapped, "for pride cometh before thy fall."

"Says the great detective himself." The man replied calmly and once again emotionless. This made Sherlock a bit angry; he wanted the man who challenged Moriarty back.

Sherlock allowed himself to smirk, however, and replied, "There is a difference between truth and pride." The man with the bomb smirked and it was not because Moriarty told him too.

"He's got you there, Moriarty." John admitted with a shrug, "And I can't say I can give you any points for originality either." There was a wicked grin on the man's face and Sherlock was interested in what this man would do and say. "Strapping me to a bomb is cliché and very boring~" Sherlock knew that to be Moriarty's normal speech pattern and wondered if he was angry to hear his own dialect thrown back at him, by a captive of his no less.

"And now, if you'll excuse me, Sherlock is it? May I get out of this vest it is quite heavy and I'm afraid my leg isn't as good as it used to be." John asked sweetly as though this was something that happened every day and that he was quite used to it by now."

Sherlock huffed a bit affronted that the man had not remembered his name but answered none the less, "Yes, my name is Sherlock. And how do you plan on getting out of the vest? Either Moriarty or his sniper will shoot you should you try." The man in the vest winked at Sherlock.

"I have my ways," He admitted carelessly with a wave of his hands that clearly showed the bomb to already be defused. Only by shooting it or violently disposing of it would the vest now be able to explode. A single bullet buried itself inches from the man and Sherlock knew Moriarty had finally joined the game.

~The End~


	6. Put a Bullet in His Brain

Does it seem like I own Sherlock? Also complete devoted to Moriarty and Moran, no Sherlock or John this time.

Moriarty did not frequent bars. It was one of his rules that was never broken, he did not engage in such commonplace, plebian, and mundane things such as going to the bar. Yet that was where he was on this chilly October morning all because one of his scouts said they had a person of interest. Or rather persons of interest but he was already aware of the others and knew they would break before they would bend, truly a waste for their talents.

"Boss," a waiter said, noticing him immediately, "Evan will arrive in five minutes. Anything I can get you in the mean time?"

"No," Moriarty returns shortly annoyed that someone in his network was stupid enough to think they could simply talk to him. "If I need anything I'll contact you." He said it but did not mean it and made a mental note to have the man eliminated later.

The man nodded and bowed with a whispered, "Of course, Boss." The man then turned around and disappeared into the ruckus of the bar. The place he had been standing in was quickly filled with a short, blonde man wearing a well worn three piece suit.

"Hello, Mr. Smith." The man said his voice like oil and accent thick.

Moriarty smiled falsely, showing several teeth, "Hello, Mr. Aveal, I trust you have something worth my time?

The man nodded vigorously and sat down across from Moriarty, "Several people actually I think you may know of a few already though." Moriarty gave his a nonchalant wave of his hand to show that Mister Aveal could continue to talk. "First we have the family of five that own this establishment they are currently going by the Jetton Family alias though in crime rings they are more commonly know as the Black Swans, we have Tiger who is rumored to be a sniper of a very high caliber recently release from service to Her Majesty after killing a few too many that weren't on the list, we have the Blanc twins who are quite good with the knife, and finally the drug ring Red Devils is looking for a larger unit to be absorbed into and their former leader knew what he was doing."

Moriarty frowned, "That was the best you could do?"

The man frowned and gulped, suddenly looking downcast, "Yes, sir, crime for hire isn't very popular at this time."

"I'm disappointed," Moriarty said simply. "Only one of the mentioned was someone I've never heard of or already approached. So spill about "Tiger" and I'll tell you if you walk out alive." Tiger was obviously a stage name which could mean several things: that the sniper was really new to this game, the sniper was very familiar with this game, or the sniper had someone they needed to protect.

"Uh…" the man started out and Moriarty glared at him, mind already made up. "He is… uh…supposedly very good. Not much is really known about him, sir, except he takes the money and gets the job done no questions asked. His price might be cheap but you have to find him first which is really hard from what I've heard."

Moriarty hummed and leaned back, the perfect picture of relaxation, "Where is the street name from?"

"I honestly have no clue, I suppose he either chose it or was assigned it by a contractor and it stuck." Mister Aveal said and anything else he might have said was cut short by a bullet through his brain. Moriarty was surprised, but he was not showing it. Instead he grinned, that was confirmation of how good this sniper was. A single thought ran though Moriarty's head; I've always wanted a pet Tiger.


End file.
